


Northwest Passages

by wintercreek



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_con_envy, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-05
Updated: 2009-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Ray heard the song, he was 200 feet down an ice crevasse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Northwest Passages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/gifts).



> Prompt #18 - Fraser/RayK, bonus points for Dief or Turtle. Prompt: Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones/And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones. -Northwest Passage, Stan Rogers. for Akamine_chan.  
> Written for the [ds_con_envy](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_con_envy/) MJ2009 fic exchange. Big thanks to China_shop, who continues to give great beta. \o/

The first time Ray heard the song, he was 200 feet down an ice crevasse. At the time, he was thinking about facing death on two fronts. There was the stuck-in-an-ice-crevasse kind of death, which, yeah. Obvious. And there was the less obvious, the kind of death he'd been fearing in a way that hemorrhaged all over everything, that poured out into all his conversations, a rush much faster than any melting ice - the who-am-I-if-I'm-not-who-I-think-I-am death. Identity death. Ray was good at undercover, good at walking slowly over someone else's life and listening for the shifting creaks under foot. He could do that in a Zen kind of way, a way that let him focus in so close that he didn't have to hear the groaning of his own shifting self. Ice breaking, whatever. Do the job, Kowalski.

But Fraser, Fraser leaving was too much. Ray saw one of those Discovery channel specials about icebergs once, where the 'bergs calved - weird turn of phrase, but okay - and the sheet ice broke up for spring, so he knew what it sounded like when a major, formerly stable piece of ice suddenly decided that it and stability were doneski. Fraser leaving, going back to Canada or back to Vecchio, man, the end of that stability was about the same. A groaning that spelled bad news all the way.

Nothing to do but cover up the groaning with song, though, so he joined in with little _yip_s as Fraser sang _Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage._ It was about right, what he'd said. If he'd never had an adventure before, then this must be the one he was fated to have - Ray was going to find that reaching-out hand, or try, just once. For just one time.

*

The second time Ray heard the song, there was also ice involved. They set off to find that reaching-out hand, and that first night at the campfire it occurred to Ray that maybe he oughta know all the words to the song that had sent his life careening off in such a wildly unexpected direction. Solid ground under his feet, even if it was under a bunch of snow and ice, and time to sing and face death again.

When Ray was a teenager, just a kid really, he and Stella had gone to a street fair where they had fortune tellers. Stell had insisted they get tarot readings, and so - like Ray could ever deny Stella anything - he'd done it. Most of the details were gone from his mind now, all except one. The death card, which had profoundly freaked him out when it had come up, didn't really mean "death." Just "change."

If an arctic expedition to find the hand of Sir John Franklin wasn't "change," Ray had no idea what was. Fraser taught him all the words to the song in one go, and they sang it every night. There was something reassuring about it, singing _Like them, I left a settled life - I threw it all away_ in defiance and celebration. Out here, where the ice sounds were realer the further north you went, there wasn't much to do but embrace death and change and the whole shebang.

*

The uncountable-millionth time Ray heard the song, there was no ice. Summer in Inuvik, no ice on the open water and more mosquitoes than you could shake a stick at. Ray was slouched on the porch, a book propped on his knees, half distracted by the glorious field of fireweed over there. Most people around here did their reading in the winter, when it was dark 24/7, and Ray read then too. But summer wasn't a bad time for sitting out in the natural light, all twenty-four hours of it each day, and soaking up some words, especially on weekends. It was too pretty for movies - now _there_ was a winter activity - and anyway, sometimes the porch offered a view of Benton and Dief coming up through the fireweed that was better than any Hollywood offering.

So there Ray was, frowning down at his book, trying to figure out how what he just read jived with the song he knew so well. "Huh. _Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones / And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones._ Huh." It was then that he heard Dief's _whuff_ and knew that Benton's timing was perfect, as usual.

Benton greeted him with a kiss, closed-mouthed not with chastity but with familiarity. "Hi, honey, how was your day?" Ray quipped, mostly because it would make Benton smile.

It did. "Fine. Dief and I had good luck this morning." They had a string of rabbits to show for it. "And how have you been?"

"Eh, puzzled. Puzzled is how I've been. Tell me if this is right - they think some members of the Franklin expedition _ate_ each other?"

"Well, yes. As near as anyone can reconstruct, the Franklin expedition was stranded on Beechey Island and King William Island after their ships became icebound. It wasn't until 1981 that a team of scientists from the University of Alberta studied the bodies and other artifacts left behind to determine probable causes of death. The evidence suggests that many of the crew died due to pneumonia, tuberculosis, and lead poisoning from the cans, in addition to the more expected exposure and starvation. Given that some died early from those other causes, it does seem likely that the men, unaccustomed to such an environment and in dire straits indeed, would have turned to cannibalism. Of course, it's all conjecture."

Ray blinked up at him. "Conjecture. Says here that they found cut marks on the human bones, which, unless you have another explanation for cutting up the dead - and I hope they were dead, 'cause _man_ \- that sure sounds like cannibalism to me."

"Me too, but there's no such thing as surety in matters of history. Well, lacking primary source documents. And even then-" Benton stopped himself and examined Ray's face. "Does it bother you?"

"Nah." Ray was surprised to find that it was true. Something about the rugged purity of life up here, maybe, made it easy to understand how a man might have to do something he never thought he'd do. And there was a sort of balance - or peace, maybe - in the idea that the guys who died still helped their friends, in a way, even after they were gone. "It just, ya know, doesn't really come out in the song."

Benton snorted, fondly. "Stan Rogers, national treasure though he may be, was apt to take liberties with fact in the name of beauty."

"Would you eat me? I mean, if I died and you had no food - you and Dief, say. Would you eat me?"

"I suppose if the situation were dire enough I might, yes. And I hope you'd do the same with me - after all, once one is dead it hardly matters. Although, Ray," he continued, now in the voice that meant he was about to be funny, "I'd be happy to eat you right now, after a fashion."

Ray stood and stretched slowly. He could feel Benton's eyes on him, hungry. "Why don't you put those rabbits in the freezer and meet me inside, then. I think this situation's getting pretty dire." He turned and walked into the house with Dief on his heels.

Benton came in as Ray was kicking off his jeans, t-shirt long since discarded. Hunting was a denim-and-plaid activity, so there wasn't a Mountie uniform with a million buttons to battle for that sweet skin. They kissed standing up, necking like teenagers with their naked torsos pressed together, cocks bumping deliciously with every shift in position. Benton walked Ray backwards to the bed, and Ray fell flat on his back on the mattress, helpless under Benton's hands. Benton was as good as his word, licking and mouthing at Ray's cock before sucking it into his mouth. And it was too good, hot and wet and perfect, for Ray to last like he wanted to. He could, at least, return the favor once he got control of his muscles again. After all, up here in the frozen north, sometimes a man had to push himself to his limits for survival's sake.

In the cool dark of their bedroom, heavy curtains blocking the perpetual summer sun, Ray found himself humming their song. Benton was a sweaty, contented lump beside him, and he heard Diefenbaker's claws clicking on the floor, probably checking the kitchen for unsecured food. At the last lines of the song Ray couldn't help but murmur the words, a bit surprised still, after all this time, because who'da thunk it? "_To seek a Northwest Passage at the call of many men / To find there but the road back home again._" He'd wanted an adventure, an escape from death, and he'd gotten it. A home, here in the far north, with a Mountie and a wolf and a song about a Canadian legend. And that, Ray had a feeling, wasn't ever gonna change.


End file.
